Popular
by The Brat Prince
Summary: Lizzie's back from Rome and about to embark on her next four years. But with new found popularity due to the IMVAs and a possible future as a pop idol, where does that leave the important people in her life; Miranda, Gordo...Gordo...Did we mention Gordo?
1. Tabloid Diva

Popular Chapter 1: Tabloid Diva 

By: Jondy Macmillan

A/N: So, yes. I'm jealous that my schools (yes, plural) have never opted to take me on a wicked trip off campus, much less out of state, and god forbid overseas. Thus…they go to Rome. But they don't kiss. She wanted to kiss him. She NEEDED to kiss him. But she didn't. That's right. No Lizzie/Gordo kiss. Just consider yourself lucky there's no glam rock in this fic. Which I don't own, of course. The characters, I mean. 

***

                "Lizzie."

                You know that annoying voice? The one always in the back of your head that sounds remarkably like your mom? Yeah, that's what was calling me. And, oddly enough, it was my mom.

                "Lizzie, honey. You're going to be late. Again."

                So my next question was, hadn't this woman ever heard of an alarm clock? I had at least- I rolled over, groaning, to check the time- and, okay, scratch that last statement.

                "MOM!" I shrieked, "Why didn't you wake me up sooner? Ohmigod, I can't believe the alarm didn't go off!! Stupid, stupid, stupid," with each 'stupid', I, Elizabeth Brooke McGuire, aka Lizzie, proceeded to bash the terrible, treacherous clock against my nightstand.

                Mom looked on, pity apparent in her eyes. Not for me, no. You would think the woman who bore me might have the slightest bit of sympathy for her child, but of course all I got was, "Stop it Lizzie! Leave the poor thing alone."

                "It's made of plastic, mom. I doubt it has feelings," I rolled my eyes for emphasis, "Besides, if it had done it's job and gone off…"

                "It did go off, Lizzie. You pounded on the snooze again," she complained, watching me scamper out of bed to dress, "And anyway, that plastic is worth more than you, lazy."

                Great. My mother values a thirteen dollar hunk of plastic torture device over her own daughter.

                "Mom! Get out," I exclaimed, indignant. But then a new thought popped into my mind, "Damn! What am I going to wear?"

                "Lizzie! Watch you mouth," I don't think I've heard so much shouting since my dad gave me the 'boys are evil! And! Will prey! On your weaknesses!' speech. 

                "Your wardrobe should have been picked out last night, you know. Mr. Gordon's going to be here in five minutes," Mom continued in that uber-annoying tone of voice only mothers can master. The one that says 'I know everything. You don't'. 

                "I know," I'm always getting that speech, "Shoo! Didn't I ask you nicely before? Get out, so I can change!"

                "It's not like I've never seen you naked before, honey," the infernal woman had the nerve to sniffle. Didn't she understand that as a respectable teenager that I had to have my privacy? Finally, obediently, the mother left the room. Thank the gods. 

                Five minutes and a miraculous pair of low rider, hip hugging, artfully holed jeans and one lacy, corset-tied, polo-type shirt, plus matching glittery accessories later, I was sitting comfortably in the backseat of the Gordon-mobile, next to a snoring Gordo, his dad relentlessly singing along to some old time tunes.

                See, it was our first, and I mean our very first day at Hillridge High School. Needless to say, despite the late start, I was feeling awfully optimistic. I lend all credit to the fact that I was not nearly as nervous as I should be to Gordo. All last night, I had the most obnoxious butterflies tying knots all over my stomach. Actually, the knots had been there pretty much all summer, a fact I also blame on my dear best friend, Gordo. 

                Long story short, I'd been grounded all summer, unable to see either of my supernaturally awesome friends, David Gordon (Gordo, duh), and Miranda Sanchez. Okay, so why? At the very beginning of the summer holiday, Gordo and I went on this school trip to Rome. Tres magnifique, ne? Don't lecture me on how many languages that was. Anyway, like I said, Gordo has been my best friend since we were in diapers. That's why having him near me makes me less nervous. 

                But, on the other side, about a month before this trip, at this crazy myster murder party, I found out Gordo's been crushing on me. What's up with that? And I'm pretty sure the feelings are-were mutual. Except I found this out from an incredibly unreliable source, none other than Kate Sanders, my ex-best friend/arch-nemesis. So, taking this into consideration, I blocked the entire accusation and my feelings for the boy completely out of my mind. 

                Until the trip. There was this whole incident involving an international pop singer, Paolo, who turned out to be nothing like he seemed. I eneded up at the International Music Video Awards (behind my chaperone's back, mind you. Which is why I was grounded, I suppose) with Gordo supporting me through the thick and thin of it. I lived the dream, because of him. And there was this one moment on a balcony, where I just knew. That I was in love with him, that I am in love with him. For real. I wanted to kiss him so badly…but…I got scared.

                Way to chicken out, right?

                So, when I said I felt a bit awkward because of him, that my stomach was trying to tie bolines and box knots around my intestines, now you know why. Just sitting in that small, crowded car with him was getting me antsy. Yet being so nervous about being around him was also majorly distracting me from the High School Hell I was about to enter, so it was good thing. Okay, it was a great thing. 

Even though he was sleeping, even though his dad was doing awful karaoke versions of Faith Hill songs, I could smell the shampoo he used, I could almost reach out and touch his adorably curly hair, and don't get me started on that skin. Guy's skin shouldn't be so smooth. It should be ultra hairy, like big foot.

Yes, my logic is twisted.

"Kids, we're here," Gordo's dad turned off the engine, surveying the two of us in the backseat. Gordo, slumped into a fetal position as close to the door as he could get, didn't budge. I nudged him dutifully, actually praising whatever higher powers exist for letting me touch him. I know I'm pathetic, don't rub it in, 'kay? 

"Nah, Lizzie, you have to do it this way," Gordo's dad winked. Eugh, then he yelled so loudly that I thought my eardrums were going to explode, "DAVID! If you don't get up this instant, I'll take your video camera away for at least a week."

Gordo moaned and sort of shifted, but basically ignored his dad. Ooh, never a good idea. Parent folks don't like being ignored.

"I know you're awake," his dad muttered testily, "You have been this whole ride."

"What?" One of Gordo's eyelids popped open, "How'd you know?"

"You don't snore, David," his dad chuckled.

Wait. Gordo had been awake the whole ride? The whole agonizingly painful, Faith Hill filled ride? Why that sneaky…why hadn't I thought of it? 

"Why'd you fake sleep?" I inquired mildly, unbuckling my seat belt. Mildly, putting it mildly, of course. I was insulted. He hadn't seen me all summer, and then he pretends to be catching a REM cycle rather than speak to me on what should be one of the most exciting days of our life. Okay, way to majorly offend, dude. 

                 His answer was possibly more insulting, "I-uh-didn't feel like talking," he blinked, "Sore throat."

                "Foot-in-mouth syndrome," his dad chirped.

                Glaring at his father, Gordo offered me a hand as we clambered out of the car. We approached the steps to the school at the slowest pace possible. A large, intimidating crowd was gathered up there, but I kept my sights set on Gordo, with his appreciably dark, curly hair, newly short, and his deep, soulful eyes with the every changing colors. 

                "Am I that annoying?" I was only half-joking. 

                "No, Lizzie," Gordo said sharply, "I was just tired. So I tried to sleep."

                "But you didn't. And before you said you had a sore throat," I accused.

                "No," he sighed, "Dad kept jerking the car around," he continued with a sheepish grin, "And my ears were sore after the first country solo, not my throat."

                "You could have at least said 'hi' when I got in," I relented, smiling weakly.

                "I'm sorry," he gratefully returned my smile. The last thing I felt like was fighting over something so weird and stupid first thing in the morning. We started up the foreboding steps, towards the dense crowd.

                And this is when the world as I knew it came crashing to the ground.

                A girl screamed, "There she is!"

                Gordo looked at me curiously, "Now what do you think-"

                The crowds started toward us, neither dispersing or parting, just heading straight on at full speed. Straight for us. Stampede!!!

                "Umm," I started, eyes wide, "There must be someone totally famous around."

                We both started searching the grounds for said celebrity, with no avail. I'll admit that I gave up easily- I've had my share of superstars.

                That's when Gordo pointed out something really strange. Body snatchers strange. The crowd had skidded to a halt. Right in front of me, "Lizzie…they're screaming your name…"

                And that was when the crowd descended upon me.


	2. Over snobbed by pasttense snubbers

Popular Chapter 2: Over-Snobbed By Past Tense Snubbers 

By: Jondy Macmillan

A/N: To anyone who liked the first chapter, and actually reviewed, I LOVE YOU. To everyone else…bah. Bah, I say. Why, I don't know. It's a fun word. So yeah, I haven't read many fics that involve Lizzie actually pursuing a pop career- well, truthfully, I haven't read any, but I figure they're out there. So if I'm repeating a theme, sorry. Hope you like it anyway. R&R.

                "Lizzie, Lizzie! Oh, I can't believe it's really you!" Some girl with really shiny braces squealed, "Can I have your autograph?"

                Honestly, I almost fell backwards. I was used to having my picture taken and all, but signing my name, my real name (and not my super pop idol twin's, Isabella), was completely new to me. Yet I managed to handle it with grace. For about the first five minutes, until I became incredibly frustrated. Gordo had been swallowed by the gaping crowd, and I felt like I was going to drown.

                The next person who came up to me, a dark haired, dark eyed girl, also screaming my name, I nearly smacked. Then I realized it was Miranda Sanchez, my other best friend, who'd been in Mexico City for about the past millennia.

                "Lizzie! What the hell is going on?" She shrieked, tugging at my wrist. We wove through the enormous crowd, up the rest of the steps, through the doors, and into the cavernous hallway of the school. Funny thing was, the crowd followed. But you know that trick where the people duck behind the stairs in the movies? Yeah, that works.

                "I wish I knew," I panted in reply, making sure to give her a quick hug, "When did you get back?"

                Miranda pulled at a strand of my blonde hair fondly, "Two weeks ago. I called your house, but your mom said you weren't allowed to socialize," she rolled her eyes, "Geez, I knew about this whole IMVA thing from your letter, but this?"

                "It just happened," I breathed, "Do you think that's what this is about?"

                Rolling her eyes, Miranda hit me lightly on the forehead, "Of course. Why else do you think the entire teenage community would go crazy? Girl, it ain't because of those Sketchers."

                I looked down at my old, faded blue tennis shoes, and said meekly, "But they are cute."

                "Whatever. So how are we going to smuggle you to your fist class?" She smiled. I'd missed Miranda so much. The first thing I wanted to tell her about was this thing I felt for Gordo that I was almost certain he didn't feel back, considering his behavior in the car. But she was already in command again, pulling me along, pushing aside all the awed by-standers that were in our way. Miranda's like that. And since she seemed so in-control, I decided not to tell her that I'd left my class schedule in Mr. Gordon's car, much less that I didn't even know where my locker was. Hey, I figured she could handle it.

                Popularity works in really strange ways.  Already, I'd been assaulted for autographs by everyone from ultra-geeky Larry Tudgeman to Claire, Kate Sander's best friend. I mean, how strange can you get? Well, the answer to that question remains to be seen. Lucky me, not much else around Hillridge High was confusing. I'd been here before, I mean, for the occasional basketball game with Miranda. We'd pretend to be cool senior girls with their long hair and longer legs, cheering on our fabulous boyfriends. Gordo, of course, would never come. Obviously, since that last game, I've been reconsidering my choice in boyfriends.

                Yeah, I think I'm more of a drama/beat poet/filmmaker kind of gal, don't you?

                Anyways, like I was saying before my daydreams got the best of me, I already knew the layout of the school, and this whole block scheduling thing they have going on makes everything so much easier. It's like, only four classes per day this semester. Of course that means I have Art, History, English, and Math for hours on end every single day, but actually, except for the whole Math thing, those are three of my favorite subjects. Not that I can draw anything more profound than a stick figure, but who cares?

                My Art teacher, Mrs. Randall, was really nice. But I'm not so sure about her daughter, Chelsea, who was also a freshman. She kept giving me these weird glares all through class, and I wasn't quite sure what was up with her. I think their family just moved here from overseas. Hey, wouldn't it be funny if we'd met in Italy? On second thought, scratch that last sentence. I don't need any more surprises than I already have on my plate.

                Speaking of plates, I just finished American History I with the most boring teacher known to man, Mr. Fischer. I'm talking more dull than Professor Binns from Harry Potter here. That is one monotone man. The only good news there is that Miranda's in both History and my English class. And guess who's in Art with me? The only reason I didn't mention it before is because I guess Gordo got sent to the nurse for one of my crazy fans stomping on his wrist or something. And on the first day! So because of me, he missed his very first class! What a bummer. Actually, the major bummer is that Kate's in all of my classes. Funny thing is, she hasn't said a word to me all day. Just sort of glares obnoxiously.

But back to the plates, I was going to say…it's lunch time! Which means I finally get to see Gordo. I'm actually standing near the entrance, waiting for him and Miranda. She had to run to her locker, supposedly. Honestly, I don't want to go in there alone. All the upperclassman are staring at me, and while they haven't been anything but kind and, frankly, adoring, I just am not comfortable in this kind of atmosphere. I wish Isabella had told me being a teenaged pop idol was like this. And I only sang one measly song!

Great, here comes Kate-I'm-So-Great-Sanders. With Ethan Craft on her arm. He sure doesn't make my heart go bump-bump the way it used to. What did I see in him? Aside from that hair, that body, those eyes, that hair. Okay, we get the picture. Calm down, McGuire. But he's so cute!

Then again, so is Gordo.

"Well, well," Kate drawls, and I'm so ready for this confrontation, "If it isn't Lizzie McGuire."

"What's up, Lizz-ay!" Ethan holds up a hand, which I slap in the perfect high five.

A smile graces Kate's face. I look up to see if pigs are flying yet. Nope, they're not there. Still smiling, Kate exclaims, "Oh my god, Lizzie, you just have to sit with us!"

"Excuse me?" I ask, surprised and mildly insulted. Either she hit her head or this whole singing at the IMVAs thing has gotten her over our whole archnemesis agenda. Which, if the latter is true, is extremely insulting. Everybody knows you're nobody if you don't have at least one enemy. No way I'm losing mine without my permission.

"You heard me," Kate said sweetly, "You have to sit with us."

Skeptically, I ask, "Who's us?"

"Silly! The same people you always sit with. Me, Ethan, um, I suppose your little posse, Sanchez and…David. Oh, and of course Chelsea, Blair, Alex, and Quincy," she chirped brightly. I noticed the small group huddled behind her, but only managed to get their residual images on my retinas before Kate whisked me off to a table near the windows. It wasn't quite near the center of the room, where all the 'cool' seniors sat, but it was pretty damned close.

"I'll go grab us some munchies," Ethan announced.

"By us, you mean?" I wondered aloud.

Ethan looked rather surprised, "Why only the two prettiest _chicas_ on campus."

I was still drawing a blank, but Kate nudged me in the ribs and whispered, "Me and you, dirk. He's offering free food. Don't pass it up."

I know a good deal when it hits me in the face. Or ribs, as it were.

"Oh, thanks, Ethan," I smiled, waving him away.

"Oh. My. God, Kate! He is so sweet! How did you land the cutest guy on campus before even stepping foot in here?" Chelsea Randall squealed in only a lightly accented voice. I'd already noticed that she was pointedly ignoring me, the stupid frizz ball. She was really tall, with this carrot colored hair that was awfully puffy, for some reason, and her already bronzed skin was incredibly tan, even for California. She was definitely from out of country, that's for sure.

"Hey," one of the guys, a tall boy with spiky blonde hair and amazingly bright blue eyes exclaimed, "Ethan Craft is NOT the hottest guy here."

"Relax, Alex, she said cutest, not hottest. Not that you win that category anyhow," the other girl remarked snidely. I immediately liked her. She was slightly on the short side, but then so am I, and she had incredible legs to make up for it. Her face was kind of pinched, but her eyes were huge. They looked like tears would spill out at any moment. I assumed this was Blair. I'm pretty sure Quincy is a guy's name.

"We've been in love since grade school, you know," Kate told her, primping. She had pulled a compact from thin air, and was fluffing her Barbie blonde hair.

"Oh. Like a fairytale!" Chelsea exclaimed.

Nevermind that we just graduated from grade school. Actually, I suppose we're technically still in it…this being ninth grade and all. I always wondered about that.

"Say, Kate, why isn't Claire sitting with us?" I asked, hoping either Gordo or Miranda would show sometime in the next millennia.

"Her?" Kate wrinkled her nose in disgust, "We don't associate with people like…Claire."

"Since when?" I demanded, remembering all the times the two of them had made my life a living hell.

"Since now, McGuire. Geez, leave it alone," Chelsea put in snottily.

I see Kate's already found Claire's replacement.

Except, here's the strange thing. In response to Chelsea, Kate said, "Randall, watch it. Lizzie's one of my oldest friends, and I will not have you bitching around with her."

I was basically in a state of shock. Apparently, no one else was, because the girl I thought might be Blair asked excitedly, "Like, Lizzie, what was it like dancing in front of all those people?"

"Well," I said thoughtfully, recovering my wit, "It was, like, really, like, fun."

Kate glared at me. I guess as one of her oldest, dearest friends, I shouldn't taunt her newest best best friends.

"Ignore her, Quincy, she just has jet lag. You know, she's been in Rome recording a CD for like, the entire summer," Kate cupped a hand over her mouth as she said this in what I viewed to be an extremely conspiratorial tone.

On that note, I guess I was wrong about Quincy being a boy's name.

"I did not," I exclaimed, but at a reproachful glare from Kate, I sputtered, "I mean-"

"She means I'm not supposed to tell you," the girl said giddily, glad to have something to gossip about.

"Dude, like top secret," the one boy who hadn't spoken, with the longish, dark hair, and barely visible eyes interjected. He looked kind of spaced.

"Oh my god, Blair, you're so smart," Chelsea squawked. Gag me. Like, with a spoon.

"Lizzie, um, what are you doing sitting with them?" Hallelujah, Miranda has come into the conversation. And Gordo's behind her. Yes!

"Well, apparently," I grinned ironically at my two best friends, "I'm one of Kate's oldest and best friends."

"Past tense," Miranda shrugged, "But what's that have to do with now—oh. I get it."

"That's low, Kate," Gordo put in, "Using Lizzie for your own-"

"David! I haven't seen you in ages," Kate jumped from her seat frantically, kissing the air near his cheeks. Now I'm jealous, "How have you been? And Miran-da! Oh, kiss, kiss." She then proceeded to do the same for Miranda, who looked rather disgusted at the motion.

"What are you on, girl?"

                "I'm also cutting a CD in Rome," I continued, amused.

                "Shh," Blair leaned over and whispered in my ear, "That's a secret."

                "Oh," I agreed, "It is, isn't it."

                "Secret to yourself, even," Gordo smirked, and I let myself beam at him. Just a little.

"You've been busy for the past ten minutes," Miranda observed.

                Gordo pulled up a seat next to me, "I'm-"

                "I know who you are," Chelsea said in a voice halfway between snotty and adoring, "You're David Gordon. You missed art class this morning. My mum missed you."

                "Well, sure," he said sheepishly, "And you are?"

                "Chelsea Randall," she extended a limp hand, which he looked at for a second before turning to the rest of the group, "Lizzie, introduce your friends."

                "I would, but see, they haven't really been introduced to me, so…"

                Alex stood, "I'm Alexander Ramsey. Nice to meet ya'll," he blinked his gorgeous eyes through that mop of blonde hair, and I could almost visibly see Miranda's mental swoon. Loyally, I told myself that Ethan was so much cuter. I mean Gordo. Gordo, damnit! Okay, it's not that I'm getting over my newfound crush that easily, its just that the kind of good looks Gordo was born with occasionally fade into the background when compared to genuine Grade A hotties.

                Of course, I'm interested in his personality, not his body, because I am not shallow.

                Right. I'm not.

                Like hell I'm not. I turn to look at Gordo, and he smiles at me, in that oh-so-sweet-and-gentle way he has, and I realize, damn, he actually is rather good looking. Not Alex or Ethan material, but still righteously cute.

                Anyhow, back to the conversation. Miranda was way too amused.

                "Hi," she exclaimed, "I'm Miranda Sanchez, Lizzie's BEST friend."

                "Pleasure," he grinned easily.

                "I'm Quincy Brighton," the brunette piped up, "And this is my brother, "Blair Brighton."

                "Rather allegorical of you," Gordo smiled at the siblings. Personally, I never would have pegged the two as related.

                "Quincy and Chelsea are shoo-ins for the cheerleading team here. I know the coach and the captain, Isobel. Oh, Lizzie, you should try out!" Kate flashed me her brightest, toothiest smile.

                "Lizzie?" Miranda demanded incredulously, "You know she has the coordination of a beaver on a skyscraper, right?"

                What does that saying mean, anyway? Did she just pull it from a hat?

                "I do not," I declared indignantly, "I was a model once, remember?"

                Okay, probably not the best scenario to broach, but you know, I have to remind them of my brief poise somehow.

                "Yeah," Miranda snorted, "I remember."

                "I think you look graceful," Blair said, "Like a swan in one of those blue things."

                "Lakes," Quincy suggested, wrinkling her nose. I don't think they get along too well. 

                I'm also rather sure intelligence doesn't run in the family, as seconds later she spilled the entire contents of her chocolate milk into Gordo's lap when it was sitting innocently near her elbow. She so must have zoned, because I'm sure it wasn't deliberate, "Oh! I'm so sorry, David!"

                Quickly, Quincy grabbed a napkin and started mopping the mess up, which had conveniently converged right near the zipper on his…oh.

                Flustered, Gordo jumped to his feet before her hand made contact, staring dismally at his pants. Rather than getting angry, like any normal boy would have done, he just paused and said, "Right, back to the nurse's office it is."

                "Gordo, it's just milk. You don't need a bandaid or anything," Miranda chided.

                "No, but I need to call my dad. I don't have any extra pants, and honestly, this stuff is kind of cold and," he gulped, "squishy."

                As he walked away, Quincy frowned and called, "I really, really didn't mean to do that. Like totally unintended."

                "No problem," Gordo returned, not looking back.

                "Of course, babe," Alex agreed, Miranda watching his every move.

                "Lizz-ay, Kate…where's Gordo-n going? He's flunking the party!" Ethan demanded, balancing a large quantity of food on two plastic lunch trays.

                "Quincy spilled milk on his lap. Classic maneuver she's been using for, oh, how many years?" Blair asked smartly.

                "Six," Quincy affirmed, "No guy can resist a girl who offers to wipe off their crotch for them," she smiled sweetly.

                Well, the girl's more devious than I gave her credit for. Wait a minute! She's going after Gordo! My Gordo!

                "Is that true?" Kate inquired of Ethan.

                "Please, not all guys are driven by their nethers," Ethan muttered, actually sounding smart for once.

                "That's not true," Blair interrupted.

                "It is," Ethan argued, glaring at the other boy, "Gordo-n's not the type who would go for that. At least, not till he got to know the girl," the blonde paused thoughtfully, considering this.

                The rest of the lunch conversation went something like that. And really, I'm fourteen, and while other girls may be all up on their sex talk (obviously Quincy, and most likely Chelsea, and maybe Kate), I don't know if I even want to understand the fact that all guys are jerks until I'm like, eighty.

                All I knew at the end of it was that these girls were vultures. I HAD to keep Quincy Brighton away from Gordo at all costs. Just as soon as he got out of the nurse's office.


End file.
